Mir. Do'st think I am maddish?
Bel. I must needs fight yet; for I find it concerns me,
A pox on't, I must fight.
Mir. 'Faith thou shalt not. [Exeunt.
[Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.]
Enter De Gard, and Leverdure, alias Lugier.
De G. I know ye are a Scholar, and can do wonders.
Lug. There's no great Scholarship belongs to this, Sir;
What I am, I am; I pity your poor Sister,
And heartily I hate these Travellers,
These Gim-cracks, made of Mops, and Motions:
There's nothing in their houses here but hummings;
A Bee has more brains. I grieve, and vex too
The insolent licentious carriage
Of this out-facing fellow, Mirabell,
And I am mad to see him prick his plumes up.
De Gar. His wrongs you partly know.
Lug. Do not you stir, Sir,
Since he has begun with wit, let wit revenge it;
Keep your sword close, we'll cut his throat a new way.
I am asham'd the Gentlewoman should suffer
Such base lewd wrongs.